


Parent-Teacher Night

by ratherastory



Series: Garden 'verse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Curtain Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Seizures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:39:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherastory/pseuds/ratherastory
Summary: It's parent-teacher night at Ben and Dean's school. It goes well... until it doesn't.





	Parent-Teacher Night

**Author's Note:**

> I... wrote a thing? It's been ten thousand years since I managed to write anything at all, let alone Supernatural, but this 'verse still lives in my head, and today it yelled at me until I wrote an update. Yay for belligerent muses, I guess!

“Are you ready to go? I want to see shoes, jackets, hats, mittens, and scarves, please! You have three minutes before we have to go, so hop to it, boys!”

Lisa is using what Sam and Dean both call her ‘mom voice,’ but they say it with such obvious love and a touch of reverence that she can never quite bring herself to resent the term. From anyone else it would be an insult, but from two people who had to grow up without a mother, it’s a compliment. Sam doesn’t really need a mother anymore, not now, but Dean is another matter entirely. Although she’s always loved Ben fiercely and been incredibly proud of him, she never realized just how much she loved being a mother until she took in a motherless boy and was able to partly fill that gap in his life.

Dean is ready first, always eager to please, holding out mittened hands for inspection. He looks anxious, shifting his weight from one foot to another, and she’s pretty sure it’s not because he’s nervous about not being ready on time.

“Good job,” she tells him seriously, as Tom, their scruffy yellow cat, twines around Dean’s ankles, his rusty purr almost as loud as her voice. She drops to a crouch so that she can look Dean in the eye, and reaches out to scratch behind Tom’s ears. “You remember we talked about parent-teacher night, right? That we’re just going to see what school is like for you. You don’t have to worry if you’re doing okay or not, it’s not going to change how much we love you, okay?”

“Okay,” he nods, but doesn’t look convinced, and she has to bite her lip and stand up again so she doesn’t upset him more just because she can never quite keep the sadness off her face whenever he does things like this.

Sam joins her a minute later, carefully sliding an arm around her waist, followed by Ben, who is mutinous at the idea of having to wear a hat and mittens in the middle of October.

“How come you and Sam don’t have to wear hats?” he asks petulantly, his mittens conspicuously absent from his hands. They’re probably shoved in a pocket.

“Because we’re adults and can make our own decisions,” she tells him, her tone warning him that this is final, no negotiation.

Sam shifts a little beside her. “You’re also smaller, and kids lose a lot more body heat because your mass isn’t as large. You lose a lot of heat from the top of your head, and your extremities are the first thing to lose circulation and get frostbite in the cold. So you have to wear them.”

Ben rolls his eyes—because everything is dramatic when you’re a pre-teen—but he makes a show of pulling his hat further over his ears and taking his mittens out of his pocket. 

“Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” she says drily. “Okay, everyone in the car, and seatbelts, please!” She looks at Sam. “Uh, is your… is Castiel coming?”

She doesn’t even know how to classify Castiel. It has not yet ceased to weird her out that Dean has what amounts to his very own guardian angel, even if that angel looks like an accountant and wears the same trench coat everywhere he goes. Cas, as both Sam and Dean call him, has become something of an intermittent fixture in their lives. He comes and goes seemingly on a whim, almost always comes when Dean asks him to, and Dean asked if he’d come to parent-teacher night.

Sam nods, looking a bit rueful. “He said he’d meet us there. He doesn’t want to come in, or anything,” he says hastily, as though she’d been especially concerned at having to explain an angel’s presence in the classroom. Although, come to think of it, that would have been awkward, if not difficult. “He just wants to spend time with Dean.”

“It’s fine,” she tries to reassure him, but she’s not sure she sounds convincing, and his face confirms that. She turns away, makes her tone brisk, and claps her hands sharply. “Okay, we’re going to be late. Everyone in the car, please!”

Ben is old enough to settle himself, and he helps buckle Dean into his booster seat, in spite of the latter’s protests that he’s a big boy and can do it himself. She bites back a smile, because Dean’s fingers are still too small to handle the buckles, and he’s still too short to properly reach them anyway.

Sam lowers himself into the front seat with a visible wince, and she feels the same pinch of worry that’s become more familiar with every passing day. She knows that construction is a physically demanding job, but she’s not sure that the amount of ibuprofen he consumes on a daily basis is normal or good for him. Doesn’t that stuff mess with your liver? She hasn’t looked it up, but maybe she should. Maybe Sam’s obsessive tendencies about research are rubbing off on her.

“You okay?” she tries to keep her voice casual.

“Yeah, fine. Why?” He sounds surprised, and maybe he is.

“Just checking,” she flashes him a smile, and turns the key in the ignition.

Castiel is waiting for them at the front gates of the school. Lisa plasters a smile on her face, and reminds herself that he’s an ally, and that he loves Sam and Dean in his own peculiar fashion.

“Hello,” he nods to her politely. “Hello, Ben, hello Sam.”

His greetings are always a little stiff, as though he has to remind himself how human beings interact. He probably does, come to think of it. His whole demeanor changes after a moment, as he squats on his heels to be at Dean’s level, and gives him a smile of genuine pleasure.

“Hello, Dean. How are you?”

Dean grins widely and throws himself into Castiel’s arms for a hug.

“Cas! You came!”

“Of course. Shall we go inside?”

Dean slips his hand easily into the angel’s, and Lisa heroically doesn’t shake her head in resignation as she and Sam lead the group into the school. They leave the kids with Castiel in a room filled with other kids waiting for their parents. He looks out of place, a carthorse around a herd of ponies, but he sits on a tiny plastic chair and seems content to listen to Dean’s chatter while Ben finds a group of his own friends to spend time with.

They see Ben’s teacher first, of a common, unspoken accord. Ben’s always been a good kid at school, and her report is unsurprising. He gets decent enough grades, mostly Bs and a few As in gym and the couple of classes he finds more interesting. He sticks up for bullied classmates, which makes her heart swell with pride and Sam grin from ear to ear, and is mostly well behaved in class. Mostly. Ten year old boys aren’t always known for sitting still, and no one seems to think it’s anything to be concerned about.

“That went well,” she nudges Sam’s elbow as they leave. She can feel him tensing up, practically vibrating with anticipation. This is his first time doing this, and she remembers how nervous she was when she attended Ben’s first parent-teacher meeting. She pats Sam’s arm. “It’s going to be fine.”

He nods tightly. “Sure. Of course. I mean, it’s kindergarten. It’s not like he can fail at macaroni art, right?”

She laughs, and practically has to push him into the colourful kindergarten room where Dean’s teacher, Ms. Merritt, is waiting for them. She smiles at them, seems to recognize Sam more than Lisa, and immediately flips to a different page in a large purple binder. Lisa bets Dean loves that binder—purple is his favourite colour, which she is willing to indulge and encourage until the day when he almost inevitable gives in to peer pressure and chooses a more “acceptable” colour. Sam seems to feel the same way, which only adds to his list of good qualities, as far as she’s concerned. He just seems incredibly happy that Dean gets to start over, in a way, and get the childhood they never had when they were growing up the first time.

Sam steels himself visibly in the doorway before pushing through and pulling up a chair to face Mss. Merrit. “Uh, hi. Hello. It’s, uh, nice to see you again.”

This isn’t their first time meeting her. They visited the school a few times before the start of the school year, partly to show Dean around, and partly so they could meet and talk to his teacher beforehand.

Ms. Merrit, who seems to be only a little older than Sam, maybe about Lisa’s own age, gives him a smile that Lisa thinks she probably normally reserves for her students. “Yes, it is. Thank you so much for coming. I know you’ve had some—” she hesitates, “concerns, about Dean, but so far things seem to be going very well.”

Lisa sees Sam’s shoulders drop at least an inch.

“He’s doing all right, then?” Sam leans forward eagerly in his chair. “He, uh, hasn’t always liked school. I mean,” he corrects himself quickly, aware of his misstep, “the idea of school.”

“Well, he’s settled in nicely. He’s made some friends, he loves story time, and his favourite is recess,” she smiles when that gets a laugh from both of them. “He’s also demonstrating some pretty advanced reading and writing abilities for his age. Did you know he could understand simple books and write his own name?”

Sam clears his throat and throws Lisa a meaningful look. She nods ever so slightly, letting him take the lead on this.

“Uh, yes. Dean’s always been really smart,” he says, his pride obvious. “So we’ve been encouraging his interests whenever we can. He seems to really like school now, even though he was anxious at first. Is he… he’s not anxious anymore?”

The teacher looks a bit troubled at that. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly. He seems… a little highly strung,” she says, obviously searching for a euphemism, “and, well, I don’t know if there’s a way to put this delicately, but have you considered therapy of some kind for him? I know that his mother passed not that long ago, and that it was… a little traumatic,” she says, looking apologetic. Lisa exchanges a look with Sam, and they both stay silent while Ms. Merritt stumbles over her words. “Perhaps I should show you, instead.”

She opens a desk drawer and pulls up a small pile of papers, the kind of thick white stock that they give to kindergarteners to draw on. It’s impossible to recognize the printed name at the bottom of each picture as she turns them over. They’re all Dean’s, and Lisa feels her heart sink as she finds herself looking at childish renditions of flames and blood, and a blonde figure in a white dress drawn at the top of a page, a baby’s crib beneath her. She looks over to see that the blood has drained from Sam’s face, lips pressed together tightly as he fights to hold it together. She reaches over and squeezes his knee.

Ms. Merrit clears her throat, visibly uncomfortable. “Dean talks about strange things sometimes. Demons, and monsters, spirits and vampires. Does he maybe watch violent television shows?”

Sam shakes his head. “No, nothing like that. Uh…”

Lisa breaks in, trying to save the situation. “We’ve actually reached out to some specialists to help Dean work through his trauma. Art and occupational therapy. He’s been doing better, but the… events were really hard on him. We’re committed to his recovery.”

The teacher looks relieved at that. “Oh, good. Some parents aren’t as receptive to the idea of therapy, but it’s clear Dean still has some, uh, things to work out. It’s perfectly normal, of course, with trauma at such an early age. You should know that we’re committed here to working with parents if you want to create an individual education plan or fill out a 504 for Dean. We want our students to thrive,” she says earnestly, and Lisa honestly kind of wants to hug her.

She settles on: “Thank you so much. We appreciate any support the school can give us.”

After that, it’s just a matter of formalities, and she and Sam are able to escape to the safety of the hallway. Sam stops after a few paces, placing one hand on the wall, and lets out the breath he’s been holding for God only knows how long. She rubs his arm.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

He laughs shakily. “No, I guess not. But I never thought I’d see the day when Dean went to therapy. At least he’ll only have to draw pictures, I guess. How the hell do we explain what happened to him without sounding completely crazy?” he glances around, but no one else appears to be listening to their conversation. “I don’t want them accidentally gaslighting him about everything he’s known, but he’s six. What the fuck am I supposed to do about that?”

She shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. We can talk to him, maybe this weekend, and see how he feels. Come on,” she hooks her arm around his. “Let’s go find the boys, and I’ll treat us all to doughnuts and hot chocolate, sound good?”

“Yeah.”

Castiel is watching over a much smaller group of children when they find him. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, an adorable little girl with corn rows fast asleep in his lap, quietly speaking to a rapt audience. He looks up as they come in, and smiles.

“Hello, Sam, hello, Lisa. I was just telling the children a story.”

“Nothing too traumatizing, I hope,” Sam says, but he’s smiling.

“He’s telling us the story of David and Goliath,” another child pipes up. He looks a little younger than Ben, and is missing two teeth. “The Bible got a whole lot of it wrong!”

“Oh Lord, he’s teaching them heresy,” Lisa laughs, just as the little girl’s parents walk into the room. They give Castiel a strange look, but don’t make an issue of it when he immediately puts their child in their arms. Lisa gives them what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “Ready to go, you three?”

Castiel gets to his feet, and Dean immediately takes his hand. To her surprise, Ben also stays close to him. Ben had made his resentment of Castiel clear in the beginning, but it seems as though he’s warmed up to the angel since then. 

It’s a beautiful night, crisp and clear, the stars shining brightly overhead. It seems almost a pity to take everyone home, and Lisa is glad she decided to take everyone out beforehand. They’re halfway to the school gate when Sam suddenly falters.

“Sam?” she turns, feeling her heart skip a beat.

He blinks and shakes his head. “Do you smell that?”

“Smell what?”

“I don’t…” he pulls away, heading in entirely the wrong direction for the car.

“Where are you going? Sam!” she calls after him, hating the panic and desperation that’s crept into her voice.

That’s when Sam collapses.

“Sammy!” It’s Dean’s voice, high and shrill with terror.

Lisa spins to look back at him. “Cas, keep them with you!” she says, not even aware she’s using his nickname for the first time, and he nods and pulls both boys close to him in a protective gesture. 

She turns away and sprints to where Sam has fallen, finds him twitching and jerking on the ground, eyes rolled back in his head. She’s never seen anyone have a seizure before, and her mind has gone maddeningly blank. She’s supposed to know what to do, but all she can think of is to drop to her knees, afraid to even touch him. There’s saliva frothing at the corners of his mouth.

There’s a voice behind her, one she barely registers until someone touches her shoulder. It’s a woman, someone she doesn’t know, who grabs her by the shoulders.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I can help. Does he have a history of seizures?”

She shakes her head, still unable to wrap her mind around what’s happening. “No, I don’t… no, he’s never had one.” Not as far as she knows, anyway. She wonders if she knows anything about him at all, then banishes the thought. She’ll deal with that later.

The woman has pulled off her jacket and is folding it under Sam’s head, then checks her watch. “I need you to call 911 right now. If he doesn’t have a history, he needs to be seen at a hospital.”

Lisa fumbles for her phone, and later on will barely remember her conversation with the operator, but she stays with the phone glued to her ear, watch helplessly while Sam continues to convulse. The woman is talking softly to him, but Lisa can’t hear what she’s saying. After what feels like an eternity, the seizure stops, and she can see Sam’s body relax. The woman pulls his right arm over his chest, then looks up at Lisa.

“Can you help me turn him over? It will be easier with two of us.”

She scrambles to help, desperate to do anything useful at all. They turn Sam on his side, his head still resting on the woman’s jacket, eyes closed. She can hear Dean yelling in the background, screaming for his brother, but there’s nothing she can do about that right now. He’s safe with Castiel. Sam, on the other hand, is unconscious at her feet, and there’s nothing she can do about that either. A crowd has gathered, but they’re mercifully keeping their distance.

It feels like years before the ambulance gets there, even though she knows it’s probably more like minutes. There’s a confusing blur of action while the paramedics get Sam onto a gurney and start administering oxygen, and one of them pauses long enough to ask her questions and tell her which hospital they’re going to. She won’t be allowed in the ambulance with him.

They leave her, bereft, in the schoolyard, staring after them. She takes a deep breath, then another, finds her center, and walks over to where Castiel is still holding tightly to Ben and Dean. Ben is pale, biting his lip, and Dean is red-faced and tear-stained, struggling weakly against the angel’s hold. She gives Ben a kiss and squats down to pull Dean into her arms.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Sam’s sick, but he’s going to be okay. I’m going to go to the hospital, and we’ll take care of him. Okay, baby? You’re going to have to be strong and go with Cas, and we will come back as soon as we can.”

She stands up before he can answer, her hands still on his shoulder, and looks at Castiel. “Will you take them home, please? I’m going to go to the hospital, and I’ll call once I know what’s happening. I’ll give you the keys to the car and take a taxi…” she starts rummaging in her purse, but the angel stops her with a light touch on her wrist.

“I don’t need a car,” he says gently, and she feels suddenly very stupid. “Please drive safely.”

“I will,” she promises, and there’s a gust of wind, and he’s gone, taking her children with him. When she looks around, no one seems to have noticed.

She has to concentrate on driving, the street lights whipping by the car one by one. It won’t help anyone if she wrecks the car, or herself. By the time she’s at the hospital, Sam has already been admitted, and it takes a lot of convincing that, even though they’re not married, she has Sam’s medical power of attorney. By the time she’s finished arguing with them, she’s drained and exasperated, but they lead her to a curtained-off area of the emergency room.

Lisa watched her father die in the hospital, what feels like a lifetime ago, but she’s struck by a familiar feeling. Sam looks smaller, diminished somehow, with an oxygen mask strapped to his face. The doctor tells her he had another seizure in the ambulance, that they’re just waiting for him to wake up fully. They’re going to have to run tests, make appointments with a neurologist if they can’t find a more immediate cause for the seizures, they might need to prescribe medication, depending on the results. It feels strange, talking about this when Sam was perfectly healthy not two hours ago.

She signs all the forms required for the treatment, and someone finds her a chair and a plastic cup with water, which she mostly ignores. She sits, and waits, and watches Sam’s face until she sees his eyelashes begin to flutter. His hand moves a little against hers, and she squeezes it gently, absurdly afraid that she’ll hurt him, somehow. He looks confused when he opens his eyes, but she was told to expect that.

“Hi,” she says, keeping her voice soft. “Welcome back.”

“Hi?” he makes it sound like a question. He tugs off the oxygen mask, and she doesn’t stop him, even though she should. She just wants to hear the sound of his voice first, just for a minute.

“How are you feeling?”

His face scrunches up the way it always does when he’s trying to figure out a complicated problem. “Uh… my head hurts. Are we in the hospital?”

“Yes,” she reaches over and pulls the oxygen mask back up over his nose and mouth. “You need to keep that on for now. I’m going to call the doctor back, and she’s going to check you out, now that you’re awake. You had a seizure, do you remember?”

He shakes his head, but squeezes her hand harder, a silent apology. She knows this because she knows him, and only Sam would apologize for nearly dying. Maybe nearly dying.

“It’s okay,” she tells him. “You don’t have to apologize, not for this. We’ll figure it out, go from there.”

His eyes are already closing. Having seizures is tiring, she knows because all she wants right now is to lie down beside him and go to sleep, and she’s not even the one who had the seizure. She reaches up and brushes a stray strand of hair away from his face, worrying at her lower lip with her teeth. In a moment she’ll go fetch the doctor, and they’ll start the process of sorting out just what happened to make their lives suddenly spiral out of control. In a moment.

She keeps holding onto his hand, and tries to remember to breathe.


End file.
